


Ghost in the Machine

by AppaApparition



Category: Metalocalypse (Cartoon)
Genre: CFO just might be a slut lmao, Charles needed a wank tbh, Hacking, I had to ask about penis for this, Indecisive pairing, Masturbation, The Lonely Island should be credited lollll, WiFi Nonsense, mystery partner, vibrating buttplug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-30 07:34:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15092114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppaApparition/pseuds/AppaApparition
Summary: A breach of security gives Charles a chance to indulge. Post Going Downklok PWP





	Ghost in the Machine

**Author's Note:**

> I'm definitely not to blame for this.
> 
> Prompt courtesy of [REDACTED]: "New trope: Who Uses a Buttplug and Who Stands Outside of Their House and Hacks It"

“Sire, the latest weekly reports on Mordhaus security have been delivered and archived.”

“Ah, thank you, 5935.” The manager hummed, eyes flicking up briefly to acknowledge the klokateer mid-type before switching windows on his computer to download said report. It was blessedly Tuesday, which was rock band Friday, and the boys had been relatively quiet for the day. No album to work on meant they’d spent the previous few days partying, and thus spent that day sleeping off the effects of said party.

A cursory glance at the report didn’t raise any red flags, but he ran it through the comparison software anyways, as he always did. It was more about consistency than any real concern about the boys’ safety in this case; he had a separate security detail monitoring the very real threat that the assassin and his Revengencers posed, and he would receive a report from them tomorrow and the wild cycle would begin again.

The software beeped to indicate that a discrepancy had been found in the report, and he let out a turgid sigh as he surveyed it – there was something on the network. Normally this meant that an unauthorized device had been connected to Mordhaus’ WiFi, which usually meant that one of the boys had gotten a new toy that didn’t get properly screened by entrance security and now it was pinging him. That particular week, the WiFi had been christened “MurderfaceIsAmsDick69”, presumably by Skwisgaar, with a password generated by Charles - the only thing he managed to retain control of since it wasn’t visible to visitors to Mordhaus.

He allowed himself a slight smile, recalling previous names the boys had set. There were several weeks it had been called various versions of “brutal”, Nathan would set it to song names he thought were cool, at some point it had been “CRYSTALS METHS”, William had changed it to “pLAnet PisS supreMACY”. When all of their mothers had visited for Christmas, someone - he hadn’t gotten a straight answer no matter how much Skwisgaar complained - had changed it to “surveta pls fuck me”. Charles was fairly sure it was William.

With Falconback looming, he couldn’t rely on normal, and so he cracked his knuckles, leaning forward to transfer information about the new device down to the cybersecurity division to get a reading on it.

The ladies in cybersecurity must have been bored or the device was entirely unsecured, because two hours later he had a program that would locate and control whatever device it was, installed on his mobile, and a promise that the schematics of the object would be finished by the end of the day.

It had been literal child’s play to get within a few feet of the device, but the moment he reached for the doorknob of the closet it was located in, a noise from inside caused him to hesitate.

It was a moan, a soft, needy kind of moan, followed by some heavy breathing, the kind he hadn’t heard in a while. He withdrew his hand, clenching it into a fist. Good lord, if that was what he thought it was. The faint buzzing from behind the door confirmed his suspicions, and he took a step back, unsure of what to do, blood rushing to his cheeks.

Someone in Mordhaus had brought in a WiFi controlled vibrating toy in, and was using it. In a closet. In Mordhaus. With the WiFi. He didn’t recognize the voice that was letting out moans in time with the shifting of the buzzing noise, but the suspect list had to be pretty short, considering no klokateer would have brought it in without registering it. The penalty for such a transgression was terrible - likely death. He did take cybersecurity quite seriously, considering the Jomfru brothers slipping through with their little stunt on Fan Day.

Obviously, one of the boys could have done it, easily. But they all had big rooms, why would any of them be rubbing one out in a random closet, with a  _ sex toy _ when they could just fuck an actual groupie? Even Murderface, who had the worst luck with the fans, wouldn’t be in a closet jerking off - at least, not with a vibrator. Or it could be Knubbler, this seemed up his alley, but he couldn’t imagine a valid reason for Knubbler getting off in a closet. The final possibility would be Abigail, and according to records from the Dethsub, she  _ did _ have a propensity for vibrating toys, but he would think she had more sense than to bring one into Mordhaus and wank in some closet, particularly connected to the internet.

A dark thought crossed his mind when he looked down at the controls on his mobile, the buttons blinking alluringly. He could find out who was behind the door without opening it and exposing that he knew they’d connected to the WiFi and that they were in the middle of...well… The idea appealed to him in the part of him that wanted absolute control, the part that alarmed him even as it made him incredibly effective at his work.

It would be deeply unprofessional to use his hacked program to bring the mystery masturbator to orgasm, not to mention the fact that anyone could walk by and catch him, or the person in the closet could burst out right after and catch him. It could even be a trap - the person behind the door  _ wanted _ him to hunt them down. His mental protests were pointless, as the shiver down his spine and the blood pooling in his groin made the decision for him. With a cursory glance down both ends of the hallway, the manager slid down the wall into a rather undignified seat across from the questionable door, and pressed a button on the mobile. A muffled expletive could be heard, and he quickly pressed it again, allowing the buzzing to resume. Another button, at the top, and a surprised squeal before the buzzing went back down - presumably from direct interfacing from the owner of said vibrator.

Charles huffed quietly, shifting so one hand could slide along his zipper and palm himself lightly as he bounced between sharply increasing the power on the vibrator, earning a cry from behind the door, and allowing the closet masturbator to reduce the buzzing. His finger slipped when he tried to shift again, hitting a third button and causing a quick flurry of “fuckfuckfuck” to erupt from the door. The buzzing seemed to shift in frequency, and Charles made a note that it changed the pattern. He slid his thumb over a grid in the screen, and that seemed to start some sort of built in programming based on the rise and fall of muffled groans delighting his ears. He could almost picture whoever it was behind the door writhing around in pleasure in the dark. He’d narrowed it down, that particular brand of noise could only come from a few of his suspects.

He was properly hard then, his erection stifled uncomfortably in his slacks, but he knew pulling it out would be a phenomenally bad idea - not that his current activity was particularly brilliant. He shut the device off again, just to hear the denied whines of his plaything, and jerked his hips against his hand just slightly when he received the response he craved. The man was past the point of no return, he was going to teach the poor soul behind the closet door an unforgettable, intense lesson, one that would make them scream out unwittingly, one he would be able to remember fondly once he could get his damn cock out of his pants.

Tinkering with the program released a beautiful symphony of noises, including a shaky screech that had him sure he’d finished them off, only for the noises to continue after several tense moments. Charles was quite sure he had a handle on the controls, and ramped up the intensity just to hear his plaything whimper. He could just hear how close they were to begging, and began slowly ramping it down to try to coax that plea out, knowing full well that the second he got an acceptable plea out, he would push them hard.

“Gotta put the work in to get off.” He half-murmured under his breath, eyes darting rapidly between the pulsating buttons and the door behind which his toy was straining to get more out of the toy. They hadn’t attempted to mess with the controls for several minutes, essentially surrendering control to him as he so badly desired. His free hand had long since clumsily wrapped around the outline of his dick through his slacks, pulling at it for the useless bit of pleasure he could get out of it.

It was all too easy when a half-sobbed “please” rang clearly through the door, the vivid image of his prey on their knees flooding his brain, naked, aroused, and begging, toy shoved deep inside them, tongue sticking out, hips gyrating with the need for contact, at his fucking mercy. He ramped the toy up to full, constant power, and the response was instant. A scream, sharp and piercing and beautiful, rang out in his ears and he let out a low growl in response - perfection.

A few moments passed in silence as the ringing in his ears stopped and the growing dampness in his boxer briefs brought him back to reality. His eyes snapped open - when had he closed them in the first place? Shit. Shitshitshit.  _ Shit _ .

Ah. This was certainly embarrassing, not a first, but it had been quite a long time. The cooling stain on his crotch made him grateful he wore dark suits, and the warm fuzziness of orgasm made it difficult to obey the urgency ringing alarm bells in his mind. Normally he had better control, but the Dethsub’s effects were still lingering, and unlike the others who’d likely gone off to find sufficient and frequent release, it appeared he and his no-longer-a-mystery masturbator had not taken the time to do so.

He couldn’t - shouldn’t - have relied on normal anyhow. His very life defied normal, between the absurdity that was the band he managed, the bizarre enemies he defended them from, the crazy amount of influence he had to carefully direct, the underground cult that kept the band safe, and his own resurrection, normal shouldn’t even be in his vocabulary. Deep breath.

He glanced around languidly before eyeing the door warily. Apparently his target hadn’t emerged yet, likely needing a few more moments to recover. He was torn - on one hand, he needed to vacate the area immediately, change, and get back to work. He  _ knew _ who his sort-of exhibitionst was, and he could summon them to his office later to discuss their behavior, but damn if he didn’t desperately want to see his work, the slackjawed look of surprise and shame of being caught with their pants down. The thought sent a twinge downstairs and he flinched.

A buzz from his phone set him straight, letting him know the schematics Cybersecurity promised him were there, and he pursed his lips, eyes narrowed at the email. He had responsibilities, he couldn’t just dilly dally around with a giant wet patch on his suit fantasizing about the people under him.

With an annoyed grimace, he shook himself of the lingering afterglow, vowing to make more time for pleasure so he wouldn’t make such a risky mistake again. As he marched down the hallway briskly, he heard the unmistakable sound of the closet door opening.

Oh well. Tally ho.


End file.
